Letters Of Love
by DanceInLightening
Summary: These love poems I've been sending through the mail, I've written them for 15 years without fail. 5927


**A/N: I do not own the song in question nor do I own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.**

**THE SONG IS 15 Years of Perusing a Cute Boy or A clingy Boy Sticking for 15 Year**s.

"_Ah! This spot is perfect!" A young boy says as he falls back onto the soft grass._

"_You think so?" asks his brown haired companion._

"_Yup! No other place would be good enough. There is the perfect amount of sunlight, the grass is beautiful, and it is far away from everyone else." The boy smiles at his companion. "And do you know the best part?"_

"_No, what?" replies the brunette confused._

"_No one else knows about it, just us."_

"_So it's like a secret spot?" asks the young brunette excitedly._

"_Uh huh. Now where is that blasted tree you wanted to plant?"_

"_Right here." Says the brunette smiling_

"_Well we better get started"_

**These love poems I've been sending through the mail,****  
****I've written them for 15 years without fail****  
****And there's still no reply,****  
****There's still no reply**

The young boy sits at his desk writing furiously. He writes about how he remembers the day that they both planted their tree. How he still goes and waters it everyday. He tells the brunette that his love for him grows like their tree.

It has been years since he planted that tree, though the memory is still as fresh as it ever was. The sunlight on his face. The smiles that they shared. It was all so perfect, every single moment of it.

He then begins to think about how he got to this point now. How his love has changed and grown over the last 15 years.

The last 15 years filled with letters of love.

**The first year, I was truly a mess****  
****I wrote each and every day with no progress****  
****I licked a lot stamps, I must admit,****  
****Sending you my heart's spit**

The first year had been one of the hardest to write during. He had no idea what to write, as he had never really written a letter before. Well he had but they had all been thank you cards, for presents he had received. Was he supposed to write about his day? Tell the brunette what had happened in school? It was just one boring day after another, nothing ever changed.

He couldn't just say basic things like his favorite color or food, the brunette already knew them. He was at a total loss at what to write. Eventually he just settled on writing what came to mind.

At first, he felt that what was writing wasn't enough. That his companion deserved more meaningful words. Yet he realized that they would be happy with what he had written, because every single word had come from his heart. Every single word contained his love.

**The second year, I was still insistent****  
****My house setting ablaze wouldn't even distract****  
****In fact, my shirt sleeve caught fire one night,****  
****And by the time I noticed, I had only a tie**

The second year his boring life had disappeared. It had started off like the year before, with him diligently still writing the letters. He was absolutely absorbed in telling the brunette every single thought in his head and his heart that nothing else had mattered.

It was while he was writing that an electrical spark on the breaker to his house set a fire. At first he was completely oblivious to it. If he had payed more attention he would have seen the billowing black smoke filling the house, and felt the increasing heat. But, as it was, he was too caught up in the letter to notice.

It wasn't until he started to feel something on his leg that he looked down to notice that there was fire licking at his pant legs. Needless to say the young boy was sent into a panic. And even though the house was burning down he did not leave a single of the letters he copied to keep for himself behind. There were over four hundred in total.

Needless to say the second year was quite eventful.

**In the third year, I was feeling alone****  
****It was so hard to write another poem****  
****I publicized my journal online,****  
****And started to realize a dream of mine**

The third year found him in a bit of a rough patch for a while. It took longer than expected for his house to be fixed, so for six months he lived in a hotel. During this time he felt alone and on the verge of depression. It was hard for him to write to the brunette, not wanting them to be worried.

So when he wrote to the brunette he ghosted over the bad things and focused on the positive. To get rid of these negative emotions he decided to keep an online journal. He was quite surprised when the journal became popular.

As he got out of his funk and became happier he continued to post his poems/letters online. And it was because of this that he realized a dream of his. He didn't want to hide his love of the brunette from the world.

He wanted to share it with them, and he wanted to do it through his letters.

**In the fourth year, I wrote for a magazine,****  
****But nothing was as it had seemed****  
****I decided to release a poem compilation,****  
****And I quit being a business man**

The fourth year also saw him somewhere he thought he would never be. He was still writing the letters everyday, and over the years he had amassed quite the collection. It was from these that he decided to collect his favorites and send copies of them to a magazine.

For weeks he was nervous, until he heard that the magazine had loved his poems. They had told him that they were 'deep' and 'meaningful'. They also told him that the company that they were published by wanted to make a complication of his works.

Needless to say he was over joyed. He was going to be able to share their love with the world. People would know their story. It was his greatest wish fulfilled.

That July he quit his job as a business man and became a full time writer. Life was close to perfect.

**These love poems I've been sending through the mail,****  
****I've written them for 15 years without fail****  
****And there's still no reply,****  
****There's still no reply **

The man smiles as he remembers those years. He had been young and naive then and so full of hope. He still was. Even now fifteen years later just thinking about the brunette brought butterflies to his stomach.

Thinking back on the next few years he continues to smile.

**By the fifth year, I was a pro poet****  
****Women loved me- men thought that I was a harlot****  
****But I didn't really care to be ignored,****  
****Because you were the one whom I adored**

It seemed like he had become famous in no time at all. Almost as soon as his books hit the shelf, they were sold out. People were clamoring to meet the man behind the words that inspired so many. He could not even count how many interviews he had given, or how many book signings he had done.

Soon enough women were clamoring to be with him and their lovers were getting angry at him for supposedly 'stealing them away'. He never did quite understand where this fixation with him came from, but he didn't really care. They could love him, or hate him, as long as they read the words that he had written.

For you see he was still madly in love with his brunette. He was still writing letters everyday. He had still not given up hope, despite the fact that there was never a reply. He knew that he would get one, some day.

**By the sixth year, my body was pain****  
****After 2,000 poems I had to abstain****  
****Not a single bone hadn't been broken,****  
****Not an organ hadn't malfunctioned**

The sixth year was pretty much hell for him. His body had started to give out from spending all his time writing and ignoring it's needs. He had to date written over 2,000 poems and even as he was in the hospital recovering from over working, he found time to squeeze out letters, though many were only a couple of lines.

He never missed a single day of writing to his brunette.

**In the seventh year, I was again healthy****  
****So today, I'll compare you to something****  
****Perhaps you're like extreme ironing****  
****Perhaps you're like a compound inner product space**

By the time the seventh year had rolled around he was back to full health, and writing again with a passion. This time however he was sure to take care of his body as well.

He started to run out of things to compare his lovely brunette with, so he had to get inventive. His ideas ranged form the obtuse and unbelievable, to the common place and ordinary.

Some poems he never even sent to his publisher, and just kept them to himself. He was afraid some of the things that he had used as comparison would be to complicated for her small brain to comprehend.

**Even in the eighth year, I didn't change****  
****So today, I'll compare you to something again****  
****You're like winning a match in a sumo tourney,****  
****Or a receptor of AMPA glutamine**

The eighth year was just like the seventh. He continued to write, and his mind was constantly filled with thoughts of his brunette. He though of their blinding smile, their subtle grace, their kindness. His thoughts were invaded by them, and as always his poems and letters reflected it.

**These love poems I've been sending through the mail,****  
****I've written them for 15 years without fail****  
****And there's still no reply,****  
****There's still no reply**

The boy smiled a sad smile. That had been the end of a very wonderful period of his life. Unfortunately the next few years would not treat him as kindly as the last few. However the boy continued to smile, just as he always had.

**In the ninth year, I had an accident****  
****Apparently I suffered a blow to the head****  
****And though I'd forgotten my own name,****  
****I knew I loved you, just the same**

The ninth year had not been kind to him in the least. He had simply been going out when there had been a horrible accident. The driver hadn't seen him. It was too late for them to hit the brakes, or for him to move. He was hit dead on. All he remembers from that day is the pain. He has never been able to remember anything else, not even why he had been going out in the first place.

When he woke up he was in a hospital room, surrounded by people he didn't know. All of them seemed so happy that he was awake, after insisting that he had been sleeping for a week. They also said that they knew him, that they were his friends. But how could they be his friends, when he didn't even know who he was?

There was one thing that he remembered though. Letters. He had been writing letters everyday to the brunette that he loved. But the problem was he couldn't remember why.

Why had he been writing the letters?

**Throughout the tenth year, and the eleventh after****  
****My memories hadn't returned****  
****And yet, I loved you and as the days went by****  
****All I could want from you was a reply**

The tenth year and eleventh year were equally as harsh to him. No matter how hard he tried he could not remember who the brunette was only that he loved them. He could not remember their laugh, though he was sure he had heard it before. He could not recall their smile, though he was sure it had once induced butterflies.

But he still loved this mysterious brunette. That was one thing that had not changed. And because of that love he kept writing the letters everyday. It was much like in the first year when he had no idea what to write. Did the brunette know his favorite color? Had he told them who his favorite band was? Had his favorite band or color changed since he lost his memory?

It was those kind of thoughts that made him anxious. None the less he kept writing, sure the brunette would love him no matter what. After all this was a love that even when he had forgotten all else, had remained in his memory. He was sure it was the same for his brunette.

**The twelfth year and the thirteenth had now gone by,****  
****My memories didn't return; I wondered why...****  
****But I still loved you;****  
****And you were all that I had to hold on to.**

The twelfth and thirteenth year were much the same. Although he tried every trick in the book his memories still would not return to him. Why? Why could he not remember? Was there something he wanted to forget?

Never the less he still loved the brunette and wrote to him as diligently as ever. A letter every single day. After all this mysterious person and their love was all that he was remember of his life before the accident, and his was not about to let that piece of him slip from his grasp.

**Even by the fourteenth year, they hadn't returned****  
****Each day was a frightening attack on my nerves****  
****I just wanted to see you again****  
****I just wanted to speak with you, my friend**

By the fourteenth year he had become a nervous wreck. Every single say he waited for a reply. He wanted to see his brunette again, to prove that they were real. At this point he had started to worry he had just made them up. It seemed to him the person must be imaginary as they never bothered to get in contact with him.

But part of him denied the very idea that the brunette was fake. How could such pure feelings of love be directed towards some one who did not even exist?

And from this stemmed an obsession. An obsession to get a response, just to prove the brunettes existence. He just wanted to see them, assured that he would know them from just one look, with or without his memories. He just wanted to speak with them again. It was his only wish in the world.

**In the fifteenth year, my memories reappeared****  
****I remembered it all, and I burst into tears,****  
****Because I remembered in a flash****  
****That you died that day, 15 years in the past**

On the fifteenth year he had another accident, this one restoring his memories. This time as he woke up in the hospital, he was not wondering. Instead when he woke up he was weeping.

Why?

Why did the brunette he had loved for all this time have to be dead? How could he not have known?

He suddenly remembered all to clearly being in a hospital room just like this one as his brunette had slipped through his grasp for the first time. And then it felt like he was losing him all over again, because at some point he had gained hope.

Hope that they would meet again, a hope that now was crushed.

**These love poems I've been sending through the mail,****  
****I've written them for 15 years without fail****  
****And there's still no reply,****  
****I don't know how I'll ever get by**

As he had been crying a memory had come to him clear as day.

"_Hey, what do you have there?" Gokudera asked the brunette_

"_Just a little box."_

"_I can see that, but what's in it?"_

"_That's a secret."_

"_Can't you tell me?" Asked the silver haired youth._

"_I'll tell you what. I am going to bury this box right here, and you can dig it up later."_

"_How long is later exactly?"_

"_I don't know... 15 years." said the brunette smiling._

"_15... 15 YEARS!" said the silver haired youth appalled._

"_We both know I'm sick Gokudera, and that I don't have much time left. In 15 years I want you to be able to come here and receive a gift from me."_

"_But-"_

"_Do you love me?" asked the brunette out of the blue._

"_Of course! I will love you forever." replied Gokudera, his conviction evident in his voice._

"_Then 15 years you can dig it up today, and it will be my 15 year anniversary gift to you." said the brunette with a large smile on his face._

"_Then does that mean you..." asked the silver haired youth in shock_

"_Uh huh. I always have Gokudera."_

"_Then would it be okay if I did something for you as well?"_

"_Like what?" asked the brunette now as confused as Gokudera had been a minute ago._

"_Can I write you letters?"_

"_Letters?"_

"_I want to be able to give you a present as well, so I will give you letters filled with my feelings for you."_

_The brunette smiled. _

"_I would love that Gokudera."_

**I couldn't see you anymore,****  
****But it was still you that I adored****  
****Just when I thought I'd see you again****  
****I had to feel the pain of the end.**

The silver haired youth wasted no time checking himself out of the hospital. He needed to get to the tree as soon as possible. Before he went however he went to his apartment to grab some letters. He had them all organized by year and month, so it was not hard to find the ones he was looking for.

He took one from January 13th, August 11th and October 14th from every year. The first is their anniversary, the last is the brunettes birthday, and the one in the middle was the day his brunette died.

With the letters in his hand he hurried off to the tree he had not visited for years due to amnesia. When he arrived and he saw how the tree had grown his heart swelled.

Yes the tree truly did grown in tandem with his love for his brunette.

**These love poems I've been sending through the mail,****  
****I've written them for 16 years without fail****  
****And there's still no reply,****  
****There's still no reply**

The boy only smiled, as he finished up his latest poem because in reality there was a reply. In that box under the tree there had been a letter. On the front it read, 'Open this 15 years from now'.

Needless to say he had opened it and had promptly burst into tears at what it said:

'Dear Gokudera,

Are you writing those letters still? I am sure I will get them one day. Until then there is one thing I want you to remember.'

And then in the center of the page were four words surrounded by hearts obviously drawn by a 17 year old boy.

**'I LOVE YOU GOKUDERA'**

Following that were the words: 'Never ever forget that. Didn't you once say that you will love me forever? The same applies for the way I feel about you. We will meet again soon, I promise. Until then I will be waiting. Love, Tsuna'.

Yes. One day they would meet again. And on that day Gokudera will finally be reunited with his eternal love.

With his brunette.

**A/N: GOMEN NASAI! I really wanted to give them a happy ending, but alas it was not to be. The song is pretty straight forward that the lover is dead so... (sweatdrop).**

**Anyways please review, I love hearing your opinions :)**


End file.
